(He can almost hear Dean’s voice in the back of his head. At least if this goes bad, Sam can avoid Stiles for the rest of his natural born life and pretend it never happened?)
“Definitely special. I don’t know what came over me.”
“If I had to guess, I’d say it had something to do with copious amounts of alcohol and sugar.”
Please, let it be just alcohol and sugar.
It might be a little weird to wish for that, but it beats the alternative. Definitely better than Sam being overcome by an animal instinct he couldn’t hold back.
A cute, innocent little smile that he punctuates by slugging Stiles in the shoulder. (It’s what Dean would do.)
“And you’re just jealous.”
Stiles is too busy ow-ing to deny it — and anyway, he is maybe a little jealous of how easily Sam seems to fool people into thinking he’s a nice guy. It’s like the most adorable evil plan he’s ever seen. Sort of.
Except this is actually harmless, unlike what Theo tried to pull. Sam might be lying about something, but it’s not a plot to murder and maim. And wow, he’s gonna stop comparing the two right now.
“Okay. Okay, so maybe I am. But I have a plan.” He doesn’t, but he’s sort of already started quizzing people on Sam Winchester’s true nature already — why stop there?
“For every poor soul you fool, I’ll remove the veil of lies from another of your victim’s eyes. This is my new mission in life! Your days as a world renown cutie patootie are over.”
He looks offended for a minute, as though he might truly believe in his own innocence, here. But that’s quickly brushed aside; he’s one designer bracelet richer, thank you, so he has no reason to feel even the slightest whisper of guilt in his decision.
❝ Possibly. ❞ Definitely. He can compensate. ❝ If you’d like a cut of the profit, you’re more than welcome to let me know. ❞ That is, if he actually sells it in favor of keeping it to regift it to another woman he’s trying to bed.
“Or I could start yelling ‘THIEF!’ and see if the poor woman turns to look at you.” Whether or not she’d realize she’s missing a very nice piece of jewelry is another question, but at least the attention would be set on Solo.
And he’s curious to see how he charms his way out of that one. Or if he’ll run.
Or more than likely pin the blame on someone else (it better not be Stiles).
stiles is observant if nothing else. under different circumstances–circumstance being not wasted halfway out of his mind, that is–he might have been proud. the knowing lilt in the kid’s voice, tinny in his ear, sets house’s teeth on edge. the tension curls into the hinge of his jaw, and his swimming gaze dives for the double half - empty bottles on his nightstand. christ, what’s wrong with him – ?
sam’s and wilson’s laugh from the living room press against the walls..
house speaks for the first time in five minutes. “ … – you sound like tarzan. “
what’s wrong with him is everything is changing. everybody is moving on. everybody is happy. everybody but him. tonight bears the risks of another morning of waking up on his bedroom floor, hungover, and trying to hide it from wilson. house sits forward on the edge of his bed, scrubbing his face with the heel of his palm. … just a little longer, he thinks, thoughts a bramble rolling crazily between his ears. i’ll hang up then.
he shouldn’t have answered his phone because he’s trapped now. desperate–desperate for a distraction, for an illusion of normalcy, anything to make it all stop for a few seconds. what’s wrong is he’s scared of hanging up, exposing himself again to the rot of lonelinesswound like vines around his insides.
“ and that’s… house? “
“ … i’m listening. “
his thumb presses harder against his temple as a shadow stills, shifts, and then passes beneath his door.
He’s gone months being the perfect gentleman, because her life is a minefield of trust issues and friends who have used and manipulated her, and cast her aside.
Stiles needs a friend. She doesn’t need whatever attraction smolders in Dean’s belly every time he watches her chew on a thumbnail or drag her fingers absently through her hair.
It’s not any one thing that does it, it’s months of slow decay burning through his self control until he’s got her in his arms, chasing away the smartass comments on her lips.
He holds out a hand after a beat, unable to keep the grin off of his face. “I’m Sam.”
“Stiles.” He waits until he’s shaken Sam’s hand, so the guy’s basically stuck with him for however briefly he can keep up the small talk before running away.
“So do you usually lick strangers, or should I feel special?”
If it turns out that Sam is another werewolf marking his territory, then that’s it, he’s emigrating.
“The burden of proof if the responsibility of the person disputing the claim.” Hah. The law was on his side, Stiles. “All you have to do is ask around. Then you’ll see.”
Stiles has made an early career out of bypassing the law, Winchester. Which is probably not a good thing, given that he still wants to be a cop.
“I didn’t dispute the claim. I asked for an example, and you couldn’t provide me with one.” And he has asked around. Sam has everyone fooled, but it’s got nothing to do with charm.
“Also, your innocent nerdy puppy act is not charm.”
“ — God, is that how you talk to EVERYONE who gets stuck out here?” She huffs, lips pinching into a line like she’s honestly offended. She’s not, really, but she IS lost for words. And she’s trying her best not to make that obvious.
“I’m a person, thank you very much. Just — a dead one …” She frowns, heaving a sigh. “Sorry, is this – is this america?”
Yes, this is how he talks to everyone, indiscriminately, he can’t help it (or just doesn’t even bother trying anymore). So he won’t waste time explaining.
“So you’re a ghost? Awesome.” A British ghost in Beacon Hills. Yeah, that bodes well. “California, yeah. Welcome to Beacon Hills.”
“Practical. The word you’re looking for is practical.” Honestly, he doesn’t know how the hell Dean does it. Because Sam isn’t going to sit there and compliment someone facetiously.
Which is how he ended up with Stiles and not much else.
“…I can be charming.”
It’s muttered, all sheepish little brother.
Thanks, Sam. Seriously — thanks, bro.
“Uh huh, give me an example.” Is this torture? Possibly. But he just got the offended pug-face, and he’s gonna take advantage.
“You, at your most irresistibly charming. Who bought that?”
"NOGITSUNE IS GONE, 
